His or Hers?
by The Most Glorious
Summary: Mitchell had killed again but she isn't interested in staying clean and runs to Seth, who gladly accepts her hunger and aids her in many murders. Cutler is awaiting his title as king of the vampire community, but apparently the wonderful John Mitchell would make a better suitor; he needs to get rid of his competition and fast.
1. when do i give up?

Chapter One

_i own nothing (not even mitchell. sigh.) and i love this fandom far too much to wish to tarnish it_

He'd been feeding.

Mitchell glanced sideways, turning his head a fraction at a time, almost as if scared something would splinter if the movement was too rushed. The smell still clung to the insides of his nostrils – blood – a reminder of what had happened the previous night, although the memories were scarce. Around him, a small single bed with a floral duvet, a pot plant, a poster of ancient actors hardly anyone cared for anymore. A woman's bedroom.

A movement on the bed distracted him, an incoherent mumble as a sleeping figure turned to face him, one pale arm falling over the edge. Around the wrist were various bands made out of string or rubber; a handmade gesture, fixed together with nimble fingers; a trickle of dry blood stained her forearm.

_His or hers?_

Whoever it was slumbered so serenely that it was hard to observe if she were actually alive, spare the murmurs here and there that left parted lips with every toss and turn. Mitchell felt_ invigorated _as he watched her and memories surfaced. Only half of her was revealed, stomach bare, t-shirt risen, clothes scattered around the floor in prior haste. Black hair, curled at the edges, covering alabaster skin.

He didn't remember her, but with every glance he could remember the _taste_ of her.


	2. holy, silver

Chapter Two

She had six scars, four bruises, one burn and five freckles across the bridge of her nose; Mitchell counted the blemishes as she sat cross legged before him, running slender fingers through raven hair.

She smelt of blood; it made his groin ache.

'Do you want a coffee?' she asked, pulling his jacket over her flimsy t-shirt. He could see her nipples hardened from the cold.

'You didn't tell me your name.' Mitchell muttered, trying to restrain himself, dark eyes roaming every little puncture mark that dotted her skin, now healed over with dried blood; every little ripple in the fabric that covered her tight breasts; the way her skin was so pale and smooth. He could remember touching her, grabbing, _biting._

There was a slight pause in which she went through the pockets of his purple jacket, finding only a shopping receipt and some house keys. Fingering the rough edge of the key, she thought for a few moments as if trying to think up a convincible alias. Bags hung under her eyes, a violent shade of lilac – like the forming of a fresh bruise. You wouldn't have guessed she'd been sleeping minutes before.

How did he know her. _How_ did he know her?

Idly her hand scratched a patch of dry skin on her neck, where a bite had begun to heal over. She made the most simplest movements into something erotic. The curve of her neck, the structure, the smoothness – the marks of ownership – all made Mitchell shake with something unknown. Something only brought on him by that possessive side, the vampire inside of him.

'You come from Ireland?' she asked – avoiding the first question or not finding her answer necessary?

Mitchell nodded slowly, thinking roughly and briefly of his past time in the rugged lands; the time before the war, before all of this, before the _change_. 'You've been there?'

Shaking her head, a hiss escaped parted lips as a finger caught on the bumps of the key, scraping fingertips. The hand instantly recoiled from the jacket pocket as she wrapped it tighter around her, sinking into the protection it provided her with. They sat like that until the sun seeped through the semi-parted blinds, splashing oranges and yellows across the back wall like an art display. Just staring at one another, thinking, smiling, fiddling with strands of hair, putting on fingerless gloves.

'Do you want that coffee now?' her soft voice carried to him and Mitchell nodded just to let he do something, eyes never breaking their gaze. They had the same eyes: brown, swirled with taunting secrets and hidden faults never to become discovered. But he still couldn't place her in his mind, though every stain of crimson, every noise that left her lips, he'd heard before. A distant memory. 'I'm Arianne, by the way.' as she passed him, bare legs brushed against his pushed up knees and without thinking Mitchell outstretched his fingertips to touch the smooth skin.

_Bliss._


	3. a savage vampire

Chapter Three

_**the night before**_

The street was deserted and for that reason she had willingly followed him.

Protection.

Mitchell walked a few paces ahead of Arianne, glancing around apprehensively while she pulled up the collar of her coat, shielding herself from the rain. She hadn't noticed how he purposely walked fast, strode like a man with a job to do – an _assignment._ How his hands had balled in green fingerless gloves, clenching and unclenching as they rounded every corner with apprehension.

'You're very quiet up there,' Arianne smiled, hands tucked deep into the depths of her pockets. The wind whipped at her face, a sea of dark hair blinding her sight.

Mitchell's shoulders shook as he gave a small, forced laugh but he didn't speak.

He looked up as they crossed the road, a soundless Arianne flitting through the lamplight like a graceful feline. He'd offered to walk her home, after the last taxi had gone and a couple of drunks had charged the alley she was heading for. He had been kind enough – a gentleman almost – _impossible_ to resist.

A man came towards them, hands down by his side, head bowed. From where Arianne was standing he could pass as a complete stranger, simply taking the same path as them as he wished to be home. But as she moved to the side to let him past, hunched close against the wall and into the dark, he mirrored her movements. A determined shadow.

Seth was certainly the indifferent vampire in the pack; the most aggressive, unsympathetic slaughterer. He liked to toy with things first, to make a little sarcastic joke, to get the prey scared and then he would attack. _Impulsively._

'Chickening out, are we?' his voice taunted, a malicious edge to it which brought Arianne and Mitchell to a halt. 'I'll just have to do this _all_ on my own – more fun for me.'


	4. made me die

Chapter Four

They sat on the doorstep, cradling mismatched mugs.

The sun hadn't risen yet, still concealed by the last of the night clouds and the top of a tall building Mitchell didn't recognise. Still wrapped in his coat, Arianne pulled it tighter around her small body, unconsciously shifting to lean against his sturdy shoulder. Mitchell didn't fight.

'Why is it so cold?' her whisper made him swallow. He wasn't going to tell her it was because she was dead.

Around them an alley, a crossroads, a group of trampled privet hedges kicked in by a teenagers game of football. The alley he remembered.

* * *

_Arianne fell sideways as Seth directed a hefty kick to her already fallen body. 'Oh, come on!' he chuckled. 'It just makes it so much easier when they're injured.' a response to the disapproving growl from deep inside Mitchell's throat. Seth didn't mind opting for physical violence; it added more pleasure, more enjoyment into the sport._

_But Seth didn't like not drinking. It made him remember those who he'd previously slaughtered, made him crave for more. Arianne gave a groan as a fistful of hair was grabbed to lever her up, a splutter, a plead as blood dribbled from her mouth. 'What's that, Princess?'_

* * *

The bite _wasn't_ Seth's.

For a moment Mitchell said nothing, before placing his coffee down by his feet and rolling up his sleeve. He watched her swallow a mouthful of coffee, following the fluids movement as it rolled down her neck in a little wave, as her neck bobbed to allow the liquid down. It quickly came back up again, splattering the darkened paving.

This he had expected. Placing his bared wrist before her, Mitchell's eyes traced her tongue as it glided over dry lips, taking away the sickly residue the coffee had left behind. He was itching to taste her again.

'You're hungry.'

In the moonlight her raven hair seemed more burgundy, reflecting different reds, browns and blacks. Arianne grabbed his wrist, shoving it away with an anxious laugh. 'I just made the coffee wrong –' the pressure he forced into his arm made it harder for her to knock it back a second time. 'I don't understand – Mitchell –'

'The coffee's not enough to satisfy you – take it!' a heavier growl than intended but she gripped his forearm differently, angling it so her lips could easily graze it.

'But I don't want to_… bite _you.'

Even though _she knew_ she wanted it and could feel the starvation rising in her throat, as fangs tried to force their way to the surface. The pure idea of sucking the blood from his veins made her uncontrollably thirsty and wild, body shaking with_ want._

'You have no choice.'


	5. mitchell likes

Chapter Five

He liked the way she wore his jacket – even though it was too big for her – _just_ because she wore it. He liked the way she fit _perfectly_ beneath him, moulding against his body as he grabbed, nipped, moaned hungrily. The way she didn't cry out and run away when his pupils dilated and the _monster _took over.

She didn't run because she was a monster too.

'I'm a vampire.' she sighed, arching against Mitchell's bare chest as they fell against the bed.

He liked how tightly her legs wrapped around his waist, forcing him closer. Her lips that traced along his jaw, his neck, biting fervently and drawing blood. Involuntarily moaning, Mitchell shook as Arianne's hand slid down into his boxers, toying with him unconsciously – she was too busy feeding to give herself wholly.

The best thing about being a Vampire had to be the sex.

The only thing Vampire's really had to fear were werewolves and overly bright lights.

Arianne reluctantly put on the sunglasses as she tried to get an overview of George and Annie from Mitchell. Slipping her hand in his, she looked up at him, tasting the last bit of blood that dotted her lower lip. She was taking to this better than he had intended. All the same, Mitchell pulled his hand back and forced it into his pocket (of the jacket he'd managed to get back, _finally_) and continued walking. The jacket smelt of her, but it wasn't the same scent that had lingered upon her the previous night. Not the same cock teasing, teeth sinking aroma that had made him agree to attack her.

'It's pink.' she stated when they arrived, surprised.

They both advanced towards the house together, Arianne slightly reserved, Mitchell simply wondering what he was going to say to them. George had never taken kindly to his killings and nor had Mitchell, if he thought about it, but there was something about this one… something about her that made him feel he needed to demonstrate his desire to care. This act would somehow make him human again.


	6. taunt

Chapter Six

George had only hesitantly spoken to Arianne upon her entering, to able just that, her crossing over the threshold. Annie however had taken a sudden liking to the new vampire, glad to have some female company that could actually perceive her. That, and the fact she'd honestly and without enticement called Annie 'very beautiful' and it wasn't everyday a ghost got told how good she looked.

'You did this?' George's voice had hit a new intensity, soprano almost, as Mitchell pushed him away from the kitchen while the two women sat deep in conversation; Annie was telling Arianne animatedly how untidy a vampire and a werewolf could _really_ be.

Mitchell pushed his friend into the lounge, trying to silence him for a moment. 'You sound so shocked, George.' he whispered, head cocked back to glance over his shoulder. 'Did you forget what I was?' as George opened his mouth, Mitchell pressed on. 'I'm not like you, I don't have days off – I can't help being what I am! It was either me or Seth and I'm sure we both know who would go easier on her.' such anger in his words, spat in a way to defend himself.

He had been a _saint_ to do this to her, to save Arianne from Seth's poisonous touch.

The werewolf threw his shoulders back in exasperation, though his tone showed mock understanding. 'You had her best interests at heart then? Yeah.' he nodded slowly before suddenly raising his voice again. 'You couldn't have just _let her go?_'

Running a hand through his hair, Mitchell sighed jadedly. It _wasn't_ that easy – he'd _had_ to turn her. She was injured, _they_ had injured her, and she'd have run to somebody, told, sought them out. It was for everyone's importance that this happened. Plus her blood had been _so_ appeasing as it'd ran down his throat, so warm and flavoursome. Her pretty face full of such promising life. It had been a slap in the face to see such youth he could never have. 'She was fucking _teasing_ me!' for that split second his eyed had turned an innermost onyx, a shaking contorting his body.

George watched his friend, shocked and a little anxious, opening his mouth to state his disbelief when he spotted Arianne watching him from the kitchen. Bright eyes shone back at him making her seem almost human; but she wasn't, and he would have to keep reminding himself that. She was just another monster, as they all were to the outside world.


	7. i miss home

Chapter Seven

He didn't ask because he cared, he asked because he had to know. Had to be sure of what Arianne was leaving behind. 'How old is your sister?'

They were sitting out in the park, Arianne curled up next to Mitchell as if trying to steal the warmth he no longer contained – he couldn't remember the last time he hadn't needed to wear an extra coat or pair of gloves. She was always so cold _now_ too.

'Sixteen, and four months.' _exactly. _'How old are you? Won't you ever... _die_?' meaning could she ever die too?

He couldn't help but laugh. Death seemed so distant and yet it was around him every day at the hospital. It never visited him, though he often longed for it, on those occasions when the thirst became too much and he desired to be human. Something possible of decay – _someone_ possible of love. He could never get attached; it always hurt too much when they faded.

'Not unless someone attempts to drive a wooden stake through my heart.'

There was a slight pause in considering Mitchell's answer but other things occupied her thoughts. 'I need to see my sister.' Arianne decided finally, clapping her gloved hands together and slipping a little as Mitchell pulled away.

'You know you can't do that.' both stood together then, Arianne to state her point, Mitchell to stress the damage that this small deed could cause. 'Don't you understand the harm this could do –'

'I can't just leave her!' she almost snarled, something Mitchell was used to seeing in newly changed Vampires. The thirst, confusion and anger all combined together in a toxic collision, usually becoming the cause of a human butchery. Though was it really 'butchery' if the bodies didn't decompose, but… simply went missing, transformed into something else. _Something eternal._ 'She's just starting to do good in school again – she wants to become a doctor… I can't leave her, not now.'

Babbling words that no longer mattered.

Mitchell grabbed her shoulders then, keeping Arianne in place though her eyes flashed dangerously. She couldn't overpower him, though he didn't doubt she'd try. 'You might think everything's okay now, but give it a couple of years and then what?' he sighed in remembrance. 'You're stuck like this forever, like a photograph, _irreversible_. You don't think she'll question how you don't age, or hardly sleep, how you wince at sunlight like you have a constant fucking hangover? You reckon she won't notice something is wrong when she finds you feeding on her friends, or when you lean in to give her a hug and find yourself tantalised by the scent of fresh, pumping blood –'

'I won't – I love her!' She was speechless, making little choking noise. _'I wouldn't_.'

'You won't have a choice.' Mitchell sighed, feeling her body continue to tense under his grip. It was always so hard to deflate the hope at the start. 'We can't control this.'


	8. tetley

Chapter Eight

**_flashback_**

He remembered cupping the back of her neck, soothing her rocking body like she were a baby. Seth watched contemptuously, licking a trace of blood from his lower lip, _almost_ innocently. 'Get it over with.' he sneered, pacing the pavement and constantly flickering in and out of the lamplight. Mitchell had forced him away, practically maimed Seth in the process while Arianne had writhed in a crying mass on the pavement. It was now up to Mitchell to do it, to change and to _murder_ her.

Sweet, intoxicating, delectable; incisor's sunk into the side of her neck, the pity and remorse Mitchell had momentarily felt for her vanishing in a wave of desire. She arched against him, gripping tight onto masculine shoulders, clawing at the skin on his neck until abruptly falling limp. It was over in a second, but the consequence would last a lifetime.

* * *

'I'm just popping out to get more tea bags.'

They were all watching _The Real Hustle _on the small television, transfixed by the petty little con's that were deceiving the human population of London. Arianne peered around the door frame, raising an amused eyebrow towards George whose face was inches from the screen.

_Boys._

Her fingers were inches from the door handle, a final release, when Mitchell's voice reached her ear, teasing and startling. 'Where are you going?' George looked up from the screen disgruntled at the interruption, but said nothing.

A smile forced its way across Arianne's face. 'Teabags. It seems someone's used them all.' a quick glance at the table and the array of overflowing mugs proved this statement correct. All the same, he grabbed her forearm.

'If you're thinking of seeing your sister –' there was a yell from the front room as George waved his hands around in exasperation, annoyed at how idiotic a member of public could be. 'I warned you, Arianne.'

'You can't threaten me, Mitchell, there's nothing you can do – I'm already _dead_.' her lips were so close to his, purposely straining his lust. With a curl of his lip, he pulled himself away and watched her disappear satisfied.


	9. innocence

_Chapter Nine_

She didn't mind the dark, not now. When _you_ were the one to be feared, what was left out there to be afraid of?

The corner where everything had happened stood blatantly before her, almost sneering, forced in her face in a taunting manner. Continuing to watch, a groan left her hungry lips; starving meant memories and memories meant pain, time for demise and madness.

* * *

_'We can't just leave her. She'll be waking up soon and someone will need to tell her what's happening!' Mitchell's tone wasn't pleading, but deep and rough from inside his throat, almost a snarl of repentance; waking up alone made this whole process additionally inept. Seth simply rubbed his hands together, already having had years of this act to now become instantly uninterested._

_'I wish you wouldn't get so attached.' he drawled, not even giving a second glance towards the lifeless body propped up against a garden wall. 'It's getting ever so boring.' a malicious grin, hardly even faltering as Arianne shot up, gasping repeatedly for oxygen her lungs needn't want for anymore. Mitchell instantly bent down to her height to explain, leaning back on his haunches and putting his hands out in protest but a shrill scream hit his ears, a warning to stay away._

* * *

Arianne had smelt it after turning the corner of Oceanview Road: sex and alcohol (mostly cheap beer, stolen, of course) and something familiar, _too_ familiar. Her sister was walking along the opposing pavement, a boy jogging in her wake, failing to keep on the curb and repeatedly falling into the deserted road. He was the most intoxicated out of the both of them. Lucie was smart though, Arianne had to keep reminding herself of this fact as she slowly followed up behind them.

His hand _slipped_ onto her thigh, gripping it a little too much for it to have been an accident but Lucie was resolute, still walking at a constant pace. It was only on his third attempt that she spoke, the lump in Lucie's throat bubbling to the surface in a deep mutter. 'Not now…' _sadness?_

Arianne stopped behind a flickering lamppost, inspecting them with deep scrutiny, battling with her better judgement. Mitchell had said it was a bad idea to speak to her, but it was also a bad idea to leave her sister with the boy. Whoever he was, arousal rolled off him in waves, strong and repellent. There was something clutched tight in the siblings hand, pressed so deep into the palm that the silver chain had imprinted against smooth skin.

* * *

_'Does everything with humans have to be so frail?' Seth had grabbed for her neck when Arianne had tried to flee. He had caught his fingers around her necklace and pulled so violently that it had snapped clean in two, becoming instantly discarded to the ground when it choked its victim._

* * *

Lucie had always been so feisty, so stubborn and reluctant and yet as the stranger went to grab her for a last time, the stiffness in her face seemed _too_ forced – hiding something. A hand went to her cheek, stroking it gently, caressing in a soothing manner and for a moment it was hard to believe this kid was drunk, but he stumbled forward with a heavy kiss. And she didn't fight it.

Five steps were filled in a heartbeat, six, seven as Arianne advanced though unseen by the two who were now in a rampant battle of dominance. He was taking advantage of her. The nearest hedge became their nest, a safe place to continue this drunken little stunt, the gap between them just wide enough for a hand to be slipped down to undo his zipper. Tough kisses unremitting, moans loud and obnoxious.

* * *

_Note to self_: it was so much easier when they were drunk.

Arrogant humans thought they actually stood a chance. They never did.

* * *

She would never get used to the pink house, Arianne decided as she stood on the corner of Oceanview Road, a box of Tetley teabags in her hand, an uneven smile to her face. It took under thirty seconds for the door to be ripped open, a growl of 'you can come in' barely even heard as Mitchell heaved her inside and violently forced her up against the wall.

The smile on her face grew into a cheeky smirk, a laugh leaving parted lips as her head knocked back before quickly coming forward to kiss Mitchell's stubbled cheek. But his hand wound against her neck without a word, expression dark and unquestionably pissed off. As he held her at arm's length, Mitchell was surprised to hear Arianne laugh again, arching her lower half against him, dropping the teabags to the floor.

'I knew you liked it rough, but this is something else.'

'He was fucking seventeen!'

George and Annie were watching in the lounge doorway, cautiously taking a step back as though scared she'd lash out at them; a flicker of wonder flashed George's face as he questioned going to pick up the Tetley box.

Mitchell could sense it; the satisfaction, the dissolving rage. The expression on Arianne's face altering between proudness and then horror at the realisation. But the taste, the goodness was too overwhelming for pity to take over just yet. It was always like that, that's why it was so hard to stay dry, sober almost. Blood made you forget all your worries and sins. Made you forget you were inhumanly evil.

Arianne shoved him away, shocked at her new strength but Mitchell had tackled her back in an instant, shoving her against the opposite wall and rattling a picture loose. 'He was forcing her!' the bark had left her lips before he'd had a chance to silence her again, hands finally reaching her collarbone for intermediate silence.

'She isn't your responsibility anymore!'

'She's my sister, she's completely my responsibility.' A pathetic argument in Mitchell's eyes. He had had a family – everything once. Everything and everyone had to be left behind, _always_. They stood no chance and the rules were no different for her.

'Not anymore!' she was thrown down to the floor in a second, staying down at his feet as Mitchell towered over her, eyes jet-black. 'You are _not_ to leave this house anymore – you are _not_ to see your sister –'

'You're not my keeper.' Arianne snarled, whining like a dog when she was pulled to her feet, shaken madly. Her nails latched into his forearm, trying to fight him off. Mitchell wanted her to see sense but she wouldn't even look at him, her mind too intoxicated with the thrill of it all to seek realisation. She would thank him one day, when her sister was old and frail and there was nothing she could do and it hurt too much.

'You have to stop murdering!'

'You made me like this, you made me a monster!' She cried out, more sadness in her voice than anger. That flicker of self-pity and fleeting hope for her human self. 'If you have no restraint then why the hell should I?' she pushed at his chest and Mitchell eased back in silence. 'It _hurts_ to be so hungry.'

And Arianne would never know how much Mitchell understood the pain until she felt it herself for after decades of fight. The only way to see would be to feel, and she would, and knowing he had caused this made him sick and it was in those moments Mitchell became drowned in anger.


	10. mistaken glances

Chapter Ten

'Mitchell, you can't just walk out!' pulling her grey cardigan tight around herself, Annie raced out of the front door, walking hastily after a stalking Mitchell. He strode with great purpose and meaning and yet both knew he had no idea where his feet were taking him. He just needed air. To be alone.

It was too damn suffocating sitting in that house, listening as Arianne bumped around upstairs, smashing whatever belongings Annie had once owned while they stifled laughs and grumbles – though sometimes ones of hilarious meaning – when she drew pictures of George in awkward situations. Mitchell didn't know if he should laugh with her, or yell at her, tell the young vampire the seriousness of the state she was now forever entrapped in. But he wouldn't face her, hadn't spoken to Arianne since the day he'd aggressively dragged her up the stairs and barricaded her inside the small bedroom. A cell made of brick's and mortar. A hell with nothing but the thirst.

* * *

_Both had snapped and snarled aggressively as Mitchell had tried to wrestle the freshly-fed Arianne up the stairs. Annie watched them twist and wind on every step, marking their footwork, expecting one of them to slip and falter but both were determined to keep their strong stances; only a frail human would be stupid enough to fall, after all._

_George stood anxiously partway between the kitchen and lounge, constantly craning his neck to glance at the small television still playing The Real Hustle. Maybe he should have argued, defended his right to separate their worlds. He went out of his way to keep the werewolf from their sight and yet here was one of Mitchell's killings, destroying his happiness. The thought swirled in his head before a bang of a bedroom door decided the fate; lips sealed George returned his attention to the programme._

* * *

Already around the corner, Mitchell was out of Annie's sight before she could utter another word.

She was standing there, watching the empty space before her when she saw him – a stranger. He stood leaning against a lamppost with such a suave manner that it was undoubtedly arrogance that warped his features, hands pushed firmly into the depths of a suit pocket and dark hair slicked man from his face he was unquestionably a handsome man. Acute hazel eyes watched Annie with such a certainty that there was no mistaking he could see her, and was purposely watching her.

It felt bizarre, intimidating almost to have someone staring so intently at you after such a long period without notice. And the way she was being observed made Annie feel on edge, nervous, waiting for a deduction to be made about herself by the stranger. Yet in a blink he was gone, around the corner perhaps, or into the van that had just pulled up inches from the lamppost. A mistake, a mere coincidence that someone had been watching the spot where she stood. Nothing more.


	11. artist

_Chapter Eleven_

George was the easiest to torment.

One of the artistic scraps of paper hung out of his jean pocket as he stood on the landing, trying to look smart as he turned another square note around and around in his palm, failing to understanding what had been depicted in biro. This must have been the fourth note Arianne had slipped under the door addressed to him, concealing some kind of crude animation, which each time got neater and more in-depth than the first.

Though, supposedly, this childish game was better than the death of innocent bystanders resting on their shoulders if she were to walk freely outside. Did Arianne _really_ have any attachments with the rest of the house bar Mitchell? They hadn't asked for her, found her_, changed _her. Why should Annie and George have to care for some mistake that a resigned vampire had created?

Because that's what always happened; he gave in to the hunger and they were left to help.

Mitchell thought of himself as the alpha male, the leader of the household, the leader of _everything_ – and why? Because he was _older?_ He was no different than any other vampire on this earth, each were compelled to survival by the biological thirst that tore through their bodies, that defined them from the humans. Mitchell like the rest quested for blood, even if he wouldn't admit it, even if he denied it, there would always be a second, a surge of surrender and then the anxiety and need would instigate a killing. And a Werewolf could kill a vampire if it really wanted to – that's what George thought about when Mitchell yelled at him in that egotistical manner of his – when he was hungry and couldn't control himself.

So he said.

The note forced its way into his back pocket with the rest, as the young Werewolf turned his attention back to the bedroom door. He could hear voices, two voices: females. _Annie was in there_. Suddenly George felt a surge of protection for her, to get her out of there. 'Annie!' his voice rose instantly, high pitched and worryingly frantic but the two females continued to converse, even a few laughs could be heard. His hand tried at the door handle but it was no use. Mitchell had applied enough locks and bolts to keep in a savage criminal. She could handle herself, she was already dead and yet still he felt she was threatened. 'Annie, are you alright?'

'She's fine, _Dog_.' Came Arianne's reply.


	12. animalistic

_Chapter Twelve_

_for fil_

The pulse in her neck twitched as Arianne rolled over – a bad dream, a memory?

Mitchell stood besides the bed, looking down on the peaceful body as though examining a slice of dead meat. His gloved hands rose from his sides, tracing a patch of smooth flesh across her exposed stomach. The muscles jerked, a fist unfurled on the fluffed pillow. It was all _so_ easy.

Hand moving up her body, he stopped against her chin, gasping as her head shifted, digging deeper into the pillow so that the left of her neck became uncovered. A quick movement brushed away a stray tendril of hair. If she opened her eyes, they'd be staring directly at one another. He'd be found out – the game would be up – the hunger would go unsatisfied.

Mitchell was over her in seconds, hands grabbing small wrists, eyes flashing with that long tamed hunger. A flash of blood – of what her body would look like after he'd mauled it. After he had fucked her and drained her and taken his share. The body beneath him writhed in discontent, small and frail, fighting against his concrete frame controlled by his need for the thick, sticky, crimson liquid –

A knee came up to kick him, but strong hips kept her on the bed while her head rolled side to side, hair flying, mouth open. But nothing was escaping. No words, no cries left parted lips – empty longings for help. It wasn't the obvious beauty that attracted him – although she was fucking something. Humans were dull, lifeless, obvious and simple. Arianne held something of her own. Something that made this more fun. Fangs punctured supple flesh and the body below arched in pain, all the remaining energy diminishing in an unheard cry. Blood flowed instantly down the neck, falling into the dip of her collarbone and staining the pristine pillowcase. Beautiful hair matted, turning into thick lumps while the face continued to stare, frozen in time like a Polaroid.

Mitchell's eyes flashed open with a gasp, his whole body jolting involuntarily.

_It had just been a dream. _

It had been over a week since he'd locked Arianne away and damned himself to a life without killings but now came the nightmares. The recollections and the fantasies.

The room around him sunk in a sheet of black and it took him a moment to gather himself, staring around at the darkened shadows that belonged to scruffy items of furniture. Darkness was unnerving. You never knew what was lurking, what was hiding and waiting – although there was something settling about the sound of George's snoring from the next room.

Something swished above his head, sending a brush of air across his face.

Looking up, Mitchell shuffled back in the bed, instantly recoiling and kicking the sheets out of his way. Arianne hung above him, floating serenely, although something about her rang ghostly. Hair spread out across the air, static and wild it gave the air of a body floating, dead, underwater. The skin was pale, rough and almost translucent, while her arms reached out with bloodied nails, stained fangs peaking over dead lips. Arianne pulled something from the pocket of the white silk dress – airy and free around the thin body – and it wasn't until the snarl left her lips and the stake punctured his chest that he knew what was happening.

The pain split him in two, his hands reaching out to grab at the killer but he couldn't feel – Arianne disappeared like vapour.

Again he jumped up, the sheets strewn across the floor, eyes flashing, terrified.

Just another fucking dream.

It was hard to believe. Just for that, Mitchell found himself feeling his chest, checking for punctures, feeling for blood from her body. The room was lighter now, rays of sun sneaking in through the thin curtains. He was out of bed in an instant, stalking down the short corridor and forcing open the door to Arianne's room without hesitation. The small lock clicked and shattered without putting up a fight and he was wrenching Arianne out of bed before she had chance to offer a sleepy smirk. Forcing her roughly against the wall he tried to ignore the way she arched against him, purposely pressing roughly towards him with every ounce of self-righteousness as she did every time.

'If you wanted to cuddle, you could just say.' she moaned, grabbing at Mitchell's hands as he tried to hold her throat. 'Mitchell, _no_.' the sigh had only just left her lips when he'd hit her hard against the wall again, as if trying to shake something out of her, struggling to find a grip.

'Why are you doing this?' he demanded, his anger failing to mask the confessed sadness that was overtaking him.

If he imagined her as a fragile human it made it easier, but she pushed against him with the same animalistic force, knocking him onto his back.

'Why are you torturing me!' a spit filled snarl as he rolled onto his stomach, latching onto Arianne's thigh when she jumped for the safety of her bed.

He didn't want her to win, not like in the dream. He couldn't.

She faltered, not wanting a fight, but scratching back with full force, hand scrapping across his face. His fangs forced their way through his mouth, snarling and snapping.

The vampire had taken over in him and all he wanted to do was hurt.


	13. clash

Chapter Thirteen

**earlier **

'Owen?' Arianne said the name with a scoff, as though there was something amusing about it, and happily accepted a mug of tea from the dark haired woman just to make her happy. Annie was curled up against the radiator, albeit its petty heat would never reach the likes of the dead. It had been a couple of hours since Mitchell had left, and Annie had appeared almost seconds afterwards, like she'd been waiting for her chance to talk without feeling guilty. If Mitchell didn't see it, Mitchell wouldn't know. 'Sounds like a prick.' Arianne decided, smiling grimily. 'And I hope he gets what he deserves – '

'He's got _Janey._' There was bitterness there, trying to stay concealed beneath sarcasm, but Arianne heard it, and placed a hand over Annie's.

After hearing his story, his faults, accusations and the tale of how everything had slowly unravelled ('sorry, I'm babbling.') Arianne had decided something needed to be done. Rather than voicing her decision that a break out would be a fun idea, she nodded and smiled, squeezed Annie's hand reassuringly and drank more and more tea until Mitchell arrived back home. Dead or not, Annie was weak. Leaving signs in mirrors for your murderer to find was one thing, but letting a vampire lose around him, when they were so _so_ hungry was another.

* * *

His hands were around her neck now, fingers digging into the skin, almost _hooking_ under the collarbones. Any ideas that this was a game instantly slipped from Arianne's mind, but then the adrenaline started to pump and she shoved Mitchell off her, watching him stumble, straightening almost immediately. The newfound strength surged through her, shock apparent in her eyes as Mitchell squared his shoulders, fangs peering over lips.

The two clashed like lions, arms out and latching, trying to force the other away, neither of them discouraged by the snarls and scratches. Her nails cut across his cheek, causing his head to snap sideways, but Mitchell had Arianne back against the wall without a beat, nose brushing against hers. For a brief second they caught one another's gaze, and lips parted in an act of a kiss – until she saw the hurt in his eyes that seemed to be battling with the anger and the hunger and the frustration.

Fangs shrinking back a little, Arianne cupped his face, brushing Mitchells' cheek sensitively. The touch was strange, and she reeled back awkwardly. Mitchell didn't even realise he'd been slapped until he felt the air brush his cheek as Arianne dipped away from him and towards the door. Fight seemed to be sinking, knowing the animal inside of her could barely be satisfied in this room.

'Stop!' he snarled, gripping her wrist and spinning the slender body around to him.

Lust, hunger, _starvation._

Darkness, _horror_ and shame.

'Wonderful Mitchell!' she spat, glowering up at him; nails dug into his wrists, the pain unfeeling by both of them. 'Wonderful, _handsome_ Mitchell, came to rescue me one night, when my date didn't show. Gullible little me for thinking you cared! Stupid, _**stupid**_ me for thinking you weren't going to hurt me!'

His eyes flashed with a choked sadness, battling inside of him like an ever darkening storm. 'I couldn't help it.' A bark, a snap? What was that in his tone – not quite forgiveness or remorse – pity? 'You don't understand! I was trying to help you!'

'You're pathetic!' Arianne screamed.

And there was a flash of red, a strangled scream seeping into a moan, a muffled gasp of pleasure.

Crimson pooled the carpet, dipped between her breasts, down Mitchell's chin, along Arianne's arms like ruby veins.


	14. escape

Chapter Fourteen

_i havent updated/seen being human in far too long for this to be acceptably good_

* * *

Arianne lay on the bed, hugging a pillow tight to her chest. Beside her Mitchell sat with his knees tucked under his chin, dark life-less eyes watching the nothingness around them. He was tired – mentally. Tired of this façade and the double-identity and the battle with his inner self.

Was he good, bad or truly evil?

Sometimes he wondered about death but knew enough to realise that it wasn't worth it. Death meant separation from those he'd suddenly grown attached to and even Annie didn't want to find her light to the other world. The one where judgement would shine down and killers of humans and animals alike would be sent to the pits, their limbs torn. Ironic, to say that perhaps Mitchell helped create a hell on earth, complete with just as much blood and hate. It was selfish but there had always been a pinch of hope that he could control this.

_They'd fucked._

It hadn't been like before; it hadn't been overflowing with desire. Anguish and confusion blinded them as they searched for themselves inside one another. Mitchell remembered sucking the life from her throat, tasting her tongue and his blood against her lips but nothing more. Things passed in a blur, a spinning fairground ride flashing snippets of flesh and claret. Light had crept beneath the curtains, dancing around the smoothness of Arianne's back and began the moment to appreciate beauty. It had been strange to see her face contorted so roughly afterwards. Not pleasure, instead the complete urge to breakdown and resign to life. A life she didn't even live freely anymore, merely frigidly.

'I'm tired now.' She announced finally, her voice muffled by the fabric of the pillow. Mitchell shifted a little as she turned to face him with her naked body, thin lace knickers covering the dignity she no longer had to protect. He nodded his head in understanding.

Mitchell felt suffocated as he stood up but Arianne latched onto his wrist. The need to break away was stronger than ever. Once it had been glorious to be around such a being but now Arianne had grown too insane for his preferences. Turning her had obviously been a mistake and now he would need to harbor her like his little pet. The problem was trying to get her to stay here and it seemed only two options were available right now: fucking or murdering.

Looking down at her, he purposely kept his gaze above her neck, determined not to slip back into the false idea that staying together, mingled as one – no matter how sweet the blood tasted – would be right. She was watching him like a delicate child and somehow Arianne had pulled him gently towards her, wrapping her limbs around his and brushing the bareness of her breasts against his chest. His shirt had been discarded long ago, torn and damaged beyond repair and so the feel of such skin against skin was enough to drive him mad.

'Put some clothes on.' He ordered stiffly, constantly under a suffocating haze that only attacked him when he was with _her_. Women were men's downfall – in this life and the next.

He wasn't aware of the plan Arianne had as she slithered onto the ground and tugged her t-shirt on before settling back beneath the sheets with him. Sadly it wasn't even the act of lovers, nor one to collect the heat they could never feel. An unexplainable need to both be by someone for loneliness _and_ power.

An hour must have passed when the impatience became too much and Arianne simply broke out of the duvet and made for the door Mitchell had slashed off its hinges. He was behind her in an instant, the weight of her lifting from his chest has disturbed the torturing moments he'd been having to himself. Another stupid mistake to believe she had accepted her fate, and somehow he had seen his with her, laying quietly and peacefully for once. George yelled something from the kitchen as feet charged down the stairs, almost tripping on the last few. Annie was strewn across one of the armchairs and looked up interestedly, raising an eyebrow when Mitchell shot out of nowhere and went to grab Arianne.

But it was too late.

The door hadn't been bolted because Nina had just been coming through it and Arianne's will to escape had been stronger than his to capture and she was already down the street.

Mitchell could feel her starvation in his bones.


	15. albert

Chapter Fifteen

Annie was looking out of the window when she saw him again. It was frosted with early winter bitterness but she could see him between the smears, staring up just like before – _directly_ at her. She stayed absolutely still for about a second before bolting down the stairs and out the door but he was gone. Running into the street, Annie spun around in circles desperately.

She_ screamed_ when he appeared inches from her face.

The stranger from before, dressed just the same – so smart yet so fashionably frozen. The man stared directly into her eyes and Annie frowned, waving her hand in front of his face.

'You can see me?'

He continued to stare; brown hair slicked back perfectly, hazel eyes watching fixatedly and yet dumbly, like he wasn't really focusing on Annie's features and instead on what was past her. Perhaps he was – perhaps she was crazy. Turning around, she saw nothing but buildings with their curtained windows and picture frames littering shelves. Nothing of interest – nothing to stare at so intently. She waved her hand again and again, furiously.

'You _can_ see me.' She repeated, enunciating the 'can' to prove she was aware. To make him stop pretending she was invisible for a joke. To make sure her hopes hadn't been brought up for some annoyingly attractive man who had looked at her once. Because he hadn't just looked at her, he'd looked at her very soul, like he knew and understood every inch of the life she led and she wanted him to explain how.

How and _who _he was.

He was walking away from her, taking great strides in great boots and Annie had to jog to keep up with him.

A woman walking towards them smiled and blushed, accepting a grin from the roguish man she would never see again and it dawned on Annie that he was very much visible.

Halfway through his plan, everything had changed and he no longer wanted to talk to the pretty ghost girl that had amused him so greatly. She was pretty, annoyingly so and it was very obvious she wanted many answers he didn't want to supply. He wasn't sure he wanted to endanger her anymore. The idea had been for some fun, for human contact and a confidant but Annie wasn't capable of that, not now.

Too naïve and wanting.

But orders were orders.

'Why can she see you – are you a _werewolf_?' she whispered, excitedly. 'Can you see the _dead_? '

Excitement at the prospect of a new friend for George or even a savior for herself.

The man stopped abruptly and Annie ran into his back, quickly circling round to face him.

'I _knew_ you could see me!'

'Easy on.' He smiled, like that school-child who got away with anything because of the confidence and character in which he carried with it. 'You've got right persistence for a dead person.'

'Why're you following me?' Annie asked demandingly, trying to stand tall and strong. Instead of answering, he stuck out his hand and smiled. 'How do you –'

Nice hair, good eyes, _great_ shape. Shame she was dead, such a waste.

'The names Albert –'

'What do you want?' determined not to falter in her quest, she ignored his gesture and looked him squarely in the eyes.

A child trying too hard to be older and wiser.

After a pause, he nodded his head and started walking again. When he noticed she wasn't following, he called over his shoulder. 'Well, come on then.'

'Where are you going?'

'You asked what I wanted.' He grinned, gesturing she hurry up. 'Let me show you.'

_Cutler would be proud._

* * *

The streets were filled with people.

Children pooled together as parents huddled with their spouses for protection from the crying and the whining and the demanding of sweets from the market. Different foods filled the air, the scent tantalising – though not as good as that of blood. In every direction a different beating heart with a throbbing pulse and a lifeline begging to be cut. It had almost blinded her – the pure ecstasy of it all. Arianne had dressed herself beneath the quilt, Mitchell too dazed in a world of his own to even question what she was doing down there and once her lips had danced across his chest it didn't seem to matter. A distraction, a feeling of what he once was, freedom to feel nothing but happiness; Arianne offered everything he could need, but he didn't have enough for her. Mitchell didn't hold enough thrill and pain and once it had been something he'd strove for above all. The messy butchering; the sweetness of life dribbling down your throat.

But he knew how it began.

He also knew how it ended.

_Alone._

Diving into the crowd, Arianne yelled and swore at the children who cluttered at her feet and kicked at them angrily. Mitchell was behind her in seconds, his fingers wrapping around the back of her neck. Sometimes being a vampire was useless, other times super speed and strength made you into that powerful hero all children dreamt of being. Arianne stumbled, growling as she reached behind her, struggling to break his hold. People were smashing against them as they chatted outside stalls, ate pasties and exotic foods that had started to overpower the two twisting vampires. The early morning sun was blinding as it rose over the buildings and, unprepared, Arianne and Mitchell were now slowly feeling themselves growing blind.

Nightfall would have been the best cover, without the people, without the heat and the stench but she'd _had_ to leave.

Just as Mitchell had _had_ to turn her.

It would be risky to attract too much attention and people were looking at the scene and seeing nothing more than an angry, thuggish boyfriend attacking his woman. Someone yelled something obscene to Mitchell and he knew there was no other option but to wait until a calmer stretch of town. Arianne fled from his grip, dodging his grabbing hand and glowered towards the man who was awaiting his thanks.

She'd never asked him to help, nosy, pointless _human_.

Gliding more easily now, she pushed past a potbellied man and slipped down some stairs into a side alley. Cramped and badly lit, easily hidden from the sun, it was the perfect place for her to stay – until she saw him. It was all so perfect. Owen was straight ahead, leaning under the bridge and dragging on a cigarette like it was keeping him alive.

He looked rough, sleep deprived, a little stubble on his face. He looked just like the photo Annie had shown him and Arianne had never hated anyone more.

Mitchell managed to trip down the steps and was at her side in minutes, Arianne's gaze fixated on her target. Mitchell too turned, looked at Owen and shook his head in disbelief.

'_No_, Arianne.' He sighed, reaching out for her, but a woman passing had become caught in her plan and the vampire held her close. The woman was young and blonde, wearing a perfectly low vest that gave Arianne access to her throat.

'I'm _so_ hungry.' She sighed, slowly constricting her fingers around such frail bones.

'Let her go, Arianne.' Mitchell said steadily, holding his arms out to try and calm her but the darkness had swallowed her whole. Tracing her tongue along her neck, she moaned in pleasure, laughing as the stranger writhed.

'Do you think this is how Annie felt, before she died?' Arianne asked casually, squeezing tighter on her throat when she got no reply. Looking towards the bridge, her eyes narrowed dangerously, seeing her pray still sitting and waiting, so easy to just _take_. 'Before _he_ killed her.' sucking down on the flesh, like a lover might, her nails dug into the woman's chest, clawing out streaks of beautiful blood.

Mitchell shook as it hit his senses, knocked him back blindly and took him around the throat. He wanted nothing more than to drink – so thirsty, so _tired_ of supressing his needs.

'Let me have him, Mitchell, and I'll let her go.' Arianne purred, groaning in annoyance as the woman started to cry out.

Just to _not_ sink her teeth into the readied neck was too much hard work. She wasn't right – she wanted Owen. He deserved to die. Arianne shoved the woman at him and was gone, Mitchell too tangled up in the screaming woman to do anything. Always the Gentleman, always the one to stop when there was never anyone to stop him.

She hit against him, swiped at his face with freshly manicured nails and Mitchell swore, cringing away.

'_Jasus_, I'm just trying to help!'

_Always_ with the nails, women's first form of defense. Sometimes he believed they worked better than _any_ weapon.

This was going to be a bad day. Mitchell knew this as the womans boyfriend appeared out of nowhere and started to yell at him, brandishing meaty fists and swearing blindly. He was too far gone in his shining-knight act to stop Mitchell walking away.


	16. blade

Chapter Sixteen

The boyfriend of the woman Arianne had threatened earlier.

Obviously drunk.

Needed that little bit extra to finally become a _real_ man.

No worries – he would be a _dead_ man soon.

She'd been sat by the canal, watching the water shimmer in the moonlight and he'd obviously been waiting. Wanting to be the big, strong, _protecting_ boyfriend.

Nothing could protect him from a vampire, especially not that pathetic knife.

It sunk into Arianne's shoulder, scraping against the bone. He'd stuck it in with the means to destroy her but knew nothing of vital organs and spinal cords or vampire immunity because it did just that – _nothing_. 'Tickles.' Arianne had purred, reaching behind her to pull the knife out. Helplessly a cry left her lips but she laughed at her own weakness. _The sound of a maniac_. She had been physically stabbed in the back – the cowards way out. Turning to face the man, she smiled a sadistic smile that made him step back a little. Such a stupid man, with more muscles than brain cells. A frightened face, one now full of regret to see his idea had faltered and the blood smearing the knife had intoxicated his victim rather than repulsed.

Round, brown pupils turned the darkest shade of death. Black and endless; soulless.

Tipping her head to the side, she examined him quietly. The silence always made them more afraid.

'That's for my girlfriend, you bitch.' He had stammered, choking rather than spitting his words. His body was shaking.

How _sweet_.

Arianne placed the tip of the blade on her finger and stared at it with interest, like it were a precious jewel. A small knife, used for gutting fish. She could smell it now, beneath his fingernails, in his hair, the scent of fish market. Not so appealing. She could _hear_ his blood, flowing freely around his body as his heartbeat increased, thumping against his neck. Running her tongue over her lips, Arianne sighed.

'Run.' She said quietly and the man looked at her in confusion before attempting to escape. They never needed telling twice, not when they knew that death was coming.

Too slow – too _human._

The knife pierced his foot, sent him falling onto his back as blood oozed. He couldn't walk, couldn't run. He _could_ yell, like a banshee, crying into the night like a child. Crawling over him, Arianne straddled his body and smiled at the muscles her fingers found beneath his shirt. Muscled men were always brainless, but at least they were fun to play with. Fingers brushed the man's jaw, tracing his freshly shaved skin.

'_Please_, don't – don't _kill_ me.' More words left his lips though her eyes had become focused on his pulse point, seeking direction for her next hit. He was begging for his life – such a cliché. If you were going to die, wouldn't you want to go with something better? _Memorable_.

Arianne rolled her eyes. 'This _is_ for you girlfriend.' She agreed.

Arianne's mouth widened, the fangs consuming her whole, stretching long and dangerous. Black eyes stared hungrily into terrified blue ones and she plunged. Straight into his neck. The flesh burst, the blood splashed her mouth, the man cried. _Screamed._ Called for _anyone_ to help him in the sudden darkness that was taking over him but no one came. Why would they? The blood was so rewarding, so beautifully mouth-watering. She didn't know why she did what she had next, it just seemed _right_. That her hand should slide to his chest as the man's head hung lip and lifeless, a chunk torn from his throat, his eyes wide and lacking life and she pulled out his heart.

_Envy?_

_Loneliness? _

Unwise as he was to do what he had done, the man had still dared to tackle a murderer in his girlfriend's honour. Had died, albeit unwittingly, for her.

It wasn't fair; nothing was fair anymore.

The dying heart lay beside his head on the bloodied pavement, funny shaped and boring. It didn't look very appetising but the crimson that stained his destroyed body still begged to be lapped up and her tongue ran along his throat and stomach, determined to take every last inch of her capture into her mouth.

Afterwards it wasn't enough.

Arianne had cried as she sat propped against the wall, the body by her feet. Her clothes were now a rosy pink, awash with blood and saliva and destruction. Decapitated, destroyed and drunk dry, there was nothing left to do with the man but let him rot. The stench hung around for too long, made her blind to anything else but what she had done.

And it felt wrong to want to do it again. It also felt wrong to have done it at all.

Torn, between what she had wanted and what she _should _have done. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. The flesh wants feeding all the time; the spirit wants to let people live. The spirit also wants everyone to be sad and alone and in _pain._ There was no way to have it all apart from in death itself. They could rot in heaven or hell or purgatory but never again hold their spouses. Never the ones they thrived for on earth – she wasn't _that_ kind.

Everything had been taken away from her, so why should she let people have their happiness so freely?

_The monster was winning and she wasn't really fighting._

Arianne was sucking the blood from her fingers when he appeared in the shadows. He hadn't startled her, but as she saw _his _face in the moonlight she hurried back with a hiss. Somehow seeing _him _had made her feel guilty for what she had done, the blood still wet across her skin as she began to preen herself like a cat, licking meat from its claws and whiskers. Still that little bit hungry and greedy enough to lick the plate that had fed it.

To lick the _bones_ of the dying.

It smeared her cheeks and arms, drying and becoming flavourless in its action.

'How are things going with Mitchell?' his voice held sarcasm, not interest. Arianne looked up at him like a savage, tasting the wetness of claret on her fingers. She could see in his face that he was just as hungry too. How long had it been for him?

'Was I supposed to be yours?' she asked after a while and Seth nodded, _smiling._


	17. rulers

Chapter Seventeen 

_im really scared ive not written cutler as cutler, so if anyone agrees please tell me. ive just finished season four at last so if theres an excuse, use that. im frail after his death. woe. im also worried about seth's characterization so do tell. also, im aware there isnt a great time lapse between updates but i get excited._

* * *

He wanted to know Mitchell's secret; wanted to steal his power.

There was no such thing as a normal, _moral_ life, away from the killing. The slaughtering and the feeling of blood against your tongue was the reasoning for life, the _sole purpose_ for thriving. It felt good – no, g_reat_ – and any vampire who said otherwise was unworthy of their status. They cowered from him, hid from the mighty John Mitchell and his apparent strength at conquering his nature. His _great_ ability to discard human flesh as an unimportance and yet to so easily turn on his own kind and to destroy them for being nothing more than what they were. Fierce creatures – _wild_ creatures. No inner peace and no need for anything so simple as _family_ or _home._ The vampires had a community, a mighty power of established hunters accepting to their want for gore and destruction.

Sometimes it wasn't even the blood that made their bodies _electric_ and merely the satisfaction of the killing.

The power and control it gave them over everything, because once you cornered that _pathetic_ person and tasted their skin against your lips, you knew you were the most fearsome monster they had ever come across. They ached and shook with the terror of what you were and that fed every inch of you into believing you were a God – a king grand enough to take life after life after life because you _could_, because it was what you were _made_ for.

Griffin was gone and Herrick was destroyed so surely Cutler was now the rightful ruler?

Hadn't he _earned_ it, after all he had been through?

His wife had been so beautiful, his life so simple and yet lacklustre but still he had had a minor something to strive for – _her_ happiness – _their_ happiness and his work. Hal had worked him until abandonment and slowly Cutler was working his way back up into superiority and _now_ was his chance.

It had been written in the glorious stars until someone had uttered the name John Mitchell and quickly slunk into nonexistence. The mighty vampire who believed he could convert the world into harmony and peace and get them all to prance around in meadows with no trigger of lust and starvation. Wasn't he aware it wasn't _that _easy? Cutler knew, knew it deep in his fucking bones that it was _impossible_. It was wrong to strangle yourself from what you desired the most especially when you could just _grab_ it.

Finding Annie had been simple enough with the aid of some ghost whisperer who believed he could actually help. Perhaps he knew now – couldn't be so foolish as to think Cutler just wanted a nice little chat with some dead bitch. Then again, Nick Cutler had always been so calm and easy to believe, with such an innocent face and steady demeanour.

That was why they had hired him, sucked him dry and brought him along as their lackey when the leftover meat needed brushing over with an easy enough lie.

But that could all fade as easily as the vampire race could crumble beneath incorrect stability and he was going to make sure that _didn't_ happen.

'I want to help you.' Cutler had told Annie.

Why did she look so nervous and unsure, and yet _excited. _Alight with the possibility of what could be, but also afraid that her unspoken questions would be answered with something most frightening. She had no idea who he was, a simple solicitor with a gift that allowed conversing with the deceased. Someone who could help her understand beyond the fear and confusion that had greeted her. The _horror._ Cutler just wanted to help, wanted to learn about her life and where she had been living and with who, because he was _fascinated_. That's what he told her – that's what she _believed_. Everyone had their vice and this man, this kind man with warm eyes and an office and placards of declaration just wanted to get to know more about what was waiting on the other side.

He could be her _friend,_ she could _confide_ in him.

She would tell him about Mitchell.

He could _destroy_ him, the last piece standing in his way.

Nick Cutler would be historic and adored; people would shout his name and know who he was years from now, when he was in charge. When he was in control, no one would doubt him, everyone would believe.

He would _be_ somebody.

* * *

Knees knocked together, Lucie examined the bland surroundings.

Everything was blue, white or beige.

It had a strange smell – like must and that of something forgotten.

_Unwanted _and _unappreciated_.

The blue chair she was sat on was plastic and hard and she was finding it difficult to find a comfortable position. A man in a white shirt and tie was scribbling things down on paper, shaking his pen every now and then to get it to work. Was he _purposely_ ignoring her? After storming in through the rain, she'd been ordered to wait and it had now been _half an hour._ Half of hour of the idle scratching as the ballpoint ran across sheet after sheet or nonsense, as the fat man scratched his head with the cap and then chewed it; the rain hammering on the swing doors constantly being opened by men with muddy shoes and grunts of dismissal to the girl waiting.

They weren't interested – they didn't _care._

Arianne had been missing for almost a fortnight now and no one seemed interested in finding her.

'A lot of blood was found.' The man had said slowly and quietly, unaware that Lucie had been listening with her back to the wall. Her mother and father stood together in forced unity. 'I'm afraid' (he wasn't afraid, his forehead didn't even crinkle with sadness _or_ kindness) '– with the facts we were given –' (he _didn't_ _know_, _didn't understand_ the situation one iota) 'She's either dead or very severely injured.'

There was no _sympathy_ or _respect_ in his voice, just simple punctuated words, part of his _duty._ He believed what he was saying was best, to shatter any hope they'd had and to forever leave them tormented with the two awful choices until something was found.

Her blood had splattered a garden wall, smeared along the pavement and just _stopped_.

No drag marks, no sign of anything – but then she'd found the locket. Lucie fiddled with it in her pocket, running her fingers over the cool silver and remembered every smell and sight she'd ever experienced with her sister. That night – when Mitchell and Arianne had become so quickly _acquainted_ – Lucie had been on her way to visit her and had just found it, hanging on one of the branches outside an apartment.

Splattered with something warm and red.

It was clean now, but something about it felt corrupt and dirty and with every touch of the chain she felt underlying sickness. Like when you get mud stuck beneath your nails and can never _quite_ rid yourself of it. Her family argued like all families did and Arianne had escaped when she'd gathered enough money. Not having kept regular contact with anyone bar Lucie, it was difficult for the police to gather _who_ could have done this, _where_ she would have gone and _why_. Her parents didn't care, not really. Too wrapped up in their own crumbling marriage to be aware of anything else. Lucie hadn't even known her sisters address, just knew the look of the dark apartment in the middle of nowhere forced by a shitty wage packet.

It felt so bad, so _cruel_ for them to be so distant and unaware and now it was too late.

The police officer peered over the desk towards the figure on the chair, her nails tapping away a rhythm she wasn't even aware of. Every day this week she'd been in and he was feeling pity rather than sympathy. _Leave you crazy child_, he wanted to demand, but some people were stupid enough to have that inch of hope. It would go. Vampire attacks were always so quickly dealt with, so why was this one taking so long? He knew exactly what had happened, but he'd be damned (probably literally, to an eternal life of bloodsucking) if he was going to speak of it.

He caught sight of the locket and stood up, moving around the desk slowly as though he might startle her. She didn't know she was swinging it hypnotically before her eyes until the officer stopped, crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat. He nodded towards it and Lucie closed her fist around the item, _protecting_ it.

'She's not dead, she left this behind.'

She _couldn't_ be, she was the big sister and they were _always_ there.

Arianne would come back and that _wasn't_ her blood and when she was back they could be a happy family again.

Lucie couldn't be left alone, she'd go fucking _mad_.

Mark Foster had been working too long and hard and just wanted his coffee and some football. Sitting down beside the girl, he took the locket in his hands and flipped open the catch. 'Is that you two?' He asked, keeping a firm grip as Lucie went to steal it away. Sadly, she nodded. 'This is contaminated evidence now, y'know.' he wasn't disappointed, it didn't really matter. She was gone, as far away from human as you could possibly be anyway. 'I'll need to keep this.'

_Destroy_ it.

Lucie shook her head and went to take it back but knew she'd made a mistake. She just _couldn'_t let it go; it was all that was left.

He brought her a coffee in a flimsy plastic cup and let her watch the football on the small screen stacked high on a small shelf but didn't give back the locket. Lucie left without it an hour later and curled next to her parents on the sofa who had stopped feuding at least for a little while.

If only for her sake.

Cutler would help close the case after that, say a body was found and the police would agree to avoid argument and death and Lucie would hopefully forget.

* * *

Seth took Arianne to a small all-night café and put his jacket around her shoulders. He'd helped her drag the man's body into the canal with a couple of bricks tied to his thighs and had watched him sink. Even if he was found, they'd never know who it was. Drained, mauled and _punctured _– nobody believed enough in vampires to press that as the cause. She was still shaking from the exertion and excitement as he forced her past the stray people sipping tepid coffee and dry cake and pushed her into the bathroom; a grimy place with streaked mirrors and broken cubicle doors and slippery floors. Pressing the tap down, Seth lead her over towards the sink and she splashed her face with the cool water, rose coloured swirls vanishing in a void down the plug.

He was so interested by it all, especially the flecks of fresh blood she'd missed on her neck and cheeks.

The animal in him wanted to _lick_ it from her.

God, he was _so_ hungry.

Some unfortunate adolescent had been his latest victim but had almost managed to escape and that annoyed him.

'I just pulled someone's _heart _out.' Arianne whispered, slowly straightening up.

As she caught the glint of the mirror, she frowned to see nothing there. No outline, no shadow, no trace that she was even before it. Reaching out her hand, she stroked the reflective surface to no avail. Seth took her arm and pulled her around to face him. Now wasn't the time for repentance, now she must relish in the beautiful art she had created but however long she had sat in the cold, finishing her meal, had diminished her happiness.

'You're quite the little heart breaker.' He smirked and Arianne smiled a twisted smile because it was all actually rather funny.

'It was so much _fun_.' she sighed, leaning in close.

If she closed her eyes and imagined, Seth was just another lump of flesh to destroy. Her lips lingered close to his neck and suddenly she realised she _did_ want it again.

'There are tramps out there, people no one cares about.' The eagerness in her voice was making her agitated, smoothing fingers over his shirt. 'No one will notice.' Arianne added darkly, looking towards Seth for some sort of signal, an allowance to do it, to let herself loose on unnoticed beings. 'But why did you pick _me_?' there wasn't a seriousness, but just a space to be filled with a question she wouldn't mind knowing. It wasn't important now, but something inside her wanted to feel _special_. Annoyed, she paced the small room like an animal, examining herself for anymore traces that she might be able to salvage. Arianne was dirty and dripping but fueled with purpose. 'Can we kill them, I _know_ you're hungry.' She sighed in impatience, slamming Seth up against the wall in _want_ more than anger.

Gripping his shirt with desperate hands, running her lips along his neck.

Nothing was beating, nothing _thumped_ with life or taste.

And he couldn't stop watching her so proudly, because she had no control, had no _will_ to do anything but eat and manipulate people into helping with her beautiful features.

'I should have been the one to do it.' He snarled, as if regretting not fulfilling his job. _He_ had wanted to capture her, to take his fill, not Mitchell. 'I _knew_ you were unhappy, you looked so desperately sad.' Seth was talking quietly, feeling ardent kisses against his throat.

He could remember seeing her alone in that pub, so much life waiting to be taken but then Mitchell had appeared. Part of him believed Mitchell had wanted to stop the act and had been furious when he'd finished the deed instead, as though him completing it would make her any less of a monster. He was only supposed to lure her out and had fought his way into the plan and won.

He'd enjoyed it too; Seth had seen it in his eyes and wanted nothing more than to take it back.

_'_Go on_, let me finish her.' _

_He had pleaded greedily but Mitchell hit him with the force of a lion, daring Seth to make just _one_ move on the dying female. Mitchell had nothing but sadness and guilt for his victims but Seth felt_ pride_._

'I just wanted to give you what you needed.' He told her, brushing a strand of hair from her face as Arianne looked into his own desperately.

So young and starving and _susceptible._

'I was going to let you die, to end your suffering, but Mitchell did this to you.' Arianne had cringed away as Seth spoke in a sad, manipulative tone that gave her false belief he cared. 'And now he won't even let you live to your full potential.' She was leaning against the wall in thought, suddenly hating every fiber of Mitchell's being. How _selfish_ of him. Tipping her chin up, she looked towards Seth who was now grinning with knowing and glancing towards the door. 'Stay with me and you'll never go hungry, I _promise_ you.'

Cups and plates littered the tables, forgotten coffees cold in their mugs and cake crumbs scattered across the cheap plastic tablecloths.

The blinds were pulled tight over the large windows, the open sign a closed.

People were tucked in their beds across the city and so no one heard the screams, the _yells_, the pleas as their limbs were twisted and sucked and _enjoyed._

Finally Arianne felt full, satisfied and _strong._

* * *

Mitchell sat on the bench outside Arianne's apartment and felt nothing but shame when he saw her sister walk by. She looked blinded by thought and kept walking determinedly. Arianne wasn't here. He knew where she was – where they all went in the beginning – for _answers_. Part of him wanted to leave her, but there was an attachment, a _duty_ to care for what he had created and she wouldn't find that protection with Seth. If he went back, there would no doubt be consequences connected to his absence and Mitchell wasn't sure if he was prepared for that – the _judging_, the _expectations, _the stories shared in his honor.

Once upon a time John Mitchell had been a name to be feared and the vampires would never stop wanting for that leader until he was either crowned or killed.


	18. boss

Chapter Eighteen

_this is awful, i am sorry, please dont hunt me down and hang me. also aware of pov situation, its just what i do ok also no hanging please._

* * *

The office was small but neat, with big leather chairs, certificates hanging on the wall, ink wells, glass jars and sweet little toy cars on a shelf by the window. Nick stood up as Annie came in and offered a hand, feigning worry as to whether they could actually touch and when they did he gasped in delight and offered her a chair. Annie had liked him from the moment she saw him, because he brought with him the prospect of happiness and anything was better than washing up after two men and flushing away pots of wasted tea. He was a smart looking man, with an expensive watch and a crisp shirt; a thick, long jacket hanging on a coat rack with a scarf. A _normal_ office.

Albert sat beside her and looked nervous about it but Cutler knew he wouldn't speak for worry of his life – believing in and seeing the afterlife didn't necessarily mean you wanted to join it before your time. Cutler told her he was a Solicitor and she glanced at the papers for proof and listened to tales from his past – 1948, to be exact, not that she needed to know – and the unease left her shoulders and soon she seemed satisfied she'd found a friend.

Cutler also found she liked to make a lot of tea, but whatever kept her content. Blood, tea – it all went down the same way.

'So you can really see me?' Annie asked quietly after a while, merely shocked that someone who wasn't a vampire of a werewolf could actually see _and_ hear her. Cutler smiled, with his innocent face and twinkling eyes and nodded.

'Must be a gift.' he said lightly. 'You're _very_ beautiful.'

* * *

'Where've you been?' George asked from the kitchen as Annie appeared in the hallway. She looked flustered and happy and leant on the doorframe with a smile.

'To see a friend.' She said dreamily and George stopped drying the mug he was holding and looked towards her.

'_What_?'

Straightening up, Annie tried to gather some composure. 'I do have _friends_, George. It's not just you and Mitchell, you know, other people like me, too.'

Laughing awkwardly, he put the mug down and nodded. 'Of course they do, Annie – you're lovely – but you're also –'

'He can see me.' she said a little too quickly.

It never stopped hurting, remembering that she wasn't living, wasn't breathing. _Invisible_, forgotten_… dead_.

'He's a ghost whisperer – he goes all around the world and helps people like me – Albert and his friend Nick; we drank lots of tea and talked about everything. Well, _I_ made lots of tea.' _No change there_. 'I mentioned you.' She smiled. 'They said you seemed like a nice person but that you hold back too much. I said that you couldn't help it, because it's just the way you are, you know, _tense_ all of the time.'

'_Tense_?' George asked, incredulous but Annie continued talking animatedly. His tone of shock and rigid shoulders weren't really proving anything other than extreme tension.

'Nick reckons you should just give in to temptation sometimes, which is funny really, because if you actually did that during the full moon – well – that'd be…' she laughed, a tinkling laugh like the one a teenage girl might have after her crush had finally registered their existence. '_Right_?'

'Annie, you're telling these people about us?' George was close to her now and it made her frown. She'd finally found someone to talk to, after months of listening to Mitchell and George talk of _their_ love lives and _their_ problems, at last someone was here to care for her, who wasn't them. Who had a different opinion – who _valued _her.

'If _you_ can have other friends, why can't I?' Annie snapped 'It's nice to be noticed once in a while, George. '. And then she was gone.

* * *

Arianne _had_ wanted Owen's blood.

She hadn't even listened to the story, not really, it was so _pathetic._ How Annie had once doted and believed she had been in love and that her fiancé had _truly_ loved her back. Wasn't Mitchell proof that men weren't what they seemed? How easily you could become heart broken and _dead._ Supposedly Owen had once been good and true and exactly what every woman dreamt of, but then again Annie could have merely ignored the sneaking.

The backstabbing, the sleeping around, returning home late and being _accidently_ heavy handed.

That's what people did, when they yearned to be needed – blacked out the obvious with forced smiles and fragile _hope_.

The water ran steadily and hot against her skin, the blood tinting the water and pooling it pink as it drizzled away. It was a fancy hotel, full of clean smells – washing powder and straightened bed-linen and expensive dinners and expensive guests. An easy enough place to escape to once the café massacre had enticed too much attention, when dawn had hit, the sunrise splintering through the blinds and onto the decay and gore and they knew leaving was best.

Running from the crime like savage criminals; they'd laughed all the way.

Though now Arianne was struggling to find the laughter or amazement at her earlier feat and choked on her own tears, drowning the sound in the steam filled hotel bathroom where nobody could find her.

They'd laid on the bed together, covered in fresh kills and sighed in ecstasy, staining the sheets with other people's pain. Arianne had fallen asleep shortly after, from the pure exertion of the chase and the thrill there was nothing left in her. Seth still pumping with adrenaline had watched victims stalking the early morning streets so innocently and contemplated paying a few of them a visit.

The night's fun and games had been beyond his wildest dreams and it had almost felt like being _alive_ again.

Later he had slumped into an armchair and watched Arianne quietly, following the curve of her body in slender, bloodied clothes and the tilt of her chin against the surprisingly white pillow. She hadn't let him touch her, not afterwards, not when she'd taken her share and resigned to the softness of the double-bed. It was _teasing_ and _cruel,_ but there was no denying the satisfaction he'd found inside that shitty little café and for now he was content – gloriously _invigorated_, in fact.

Now he could hear her in the shower as he paced the room and watched normal daytime television, _desperate_ to see if their stunt had been spread worldwide.

It had.

Seth smiled, wide and _proud_ and _maliciously _because they didn't have a clue.

Mitchell would watch from his small television in that fucking pink house of his and wish he'd been there. No matter how hard he denied it, Seth _knew_ that Mitchell thirsted for it all just as much as the next vampire. There wasn't a choice – there was no escaping how it made you feel inside. Seth was just glad he'd finally got something Mitchell hadn't, that he'd managed to take something away from the precious little pacifist that he could never have back. Once you tasted it, so pure and worthy, and got over the initial shock of your first mauled body then you learnt to enjoy it and never wished to do anything but _drink._

Arianne was a sweet little creature with a streak of evil straight down her core and it was _brilliant._

After a while, the whole thing started to wear off, that's why vampires killed so many so soon. When you were young and hungry you had no control, no desire to do anything but hunt because it made you feel complete. Wrapping a hotel-embellished towel around her, Arianne was struck with the guilt and crushing self-loathing. Like a kick to the gut, a harsh slap to the face and a crack to the back of the skull, making you light-headed, nauseous and incredibly scared.

Scared that you could ever be something so _evil_.

Seth had once learnt the origin of his name.

It was all pretty ironic, if you thought about it, if you knew the _real_ him.

Seth was the third son of Adam and Eve, who had once lived in and adored the Garden of Eden. Once Abel was sleighed, the heartbroken parents believed Seth was a gift, a somewhat substitute for their loss. Cain was the first to murder and Abel was the first unfortunate to die; the darkness of the world and all it could give were very apparent even in the holiness of God.

Before mankind had ever ruled and destroyed their own society, there had been an evil waiting to be born into the hearts of pure children.

Seth wondered if Cain had enjoyed it.

So he was named after the third son of a dysfunctional family. The temptation was too great for God's mightiest creation and Eve had snatched such a forbidden fruit. Everything had been shattered.

Blood was Seth's forbidden entity and he took it as fearlessly as she, although without the torment and guilt and punishment because who could stop an everlasting, ever-_thirsting_ vampire?

Sometimes, now, when he killed, Seth thought of Adam and Eve's son and wondered if he had ever done such wrong. He felt his duty to live to the name, to give it a meaning and a right rather than to be known as the extra, the _replacement child_, unwanted at first and hardly spoken of. Vampires were an unwanted race, a disease hardly whispered unless in that of fairy-tale. It seemed fit – _yes_, fitting indeed – but so _ironic_.

But could there ever be such a thing as a God? _Why_ would He let such darkness reign over his world? _Why_ did humans even let it happen?

Things failed to make sense so often that it was just easier to ignore it all and just kill.

At least with killing you knew what you were doing and got something out of it.

When Arianne finally surfaced from the bathroom, she instantly recoiled and turned back.

A man was sat on the edge of the bed in a crisp suit, inspecting the floor in a bored manner. Seth stood by the window, like a child in the presence of his father, having been caught in the act and now sentenced to silence. He wasn't quite scared, but somehow knew not to mess with this man. Nick Cutler – a name carried on the wind through the vampire community. A name he didn't want to have to speak through his own lips and so he didn't – he remained silent and cowardly. Stiffly looking up, Seth met Arianne's eyes in a warning not to move but she had already bolted back for the bathroom. Another man blocked her path, this one somehow looked softer and yet his height made her instantly a threat.

Albert looked down at the girl in the fresh towel and saw nothing but a _human_ girl. How was he supposed to know otherwise? He could see the dead, speak to them like old acquaintances, but blocked sinuses of a mere mortal could never sense out a vampire. She smelt of strawberries, in fact.

'Messy business you left behind.' Cutler said slowly, talking to Arianne's back until she finally turned around, a fierce glare in her eyes. 'Took a lot of covering up.'

He had got there too late, actually, after it had already been televised and wasn't pleased. Everyone who had once worked for him and yet still decided to run the story were gone now – no matter, as long as it was_ finally_ done.

She wanted to say it wasn't her fault, Seth could see the words bubbling up in her throat but she kept quiet. If he wasn't mistaken, she was actually _scared._ She turned on him then, looking for him to speak, to defend them but Seth continued to stand mute.

'I'm kind of new to this.' Arianne hissed and Cutler laughed shrilly.

Always like that at the start – hungry and defensive. Once you'd been around as long as he, you learnt the way of the underworld, worked your way into the police and gathered enough partners to save your skin when the lust of flesh became too great and created too much waste; on walls, in alleys, restrooms, parks. Constant _starvation_, he recalled, when it had first happened to him. Literally _begging_ unashamedly for the red liquid in clear glasses or even the jugular of smooth necks. Perhaps now he'd earned a _little _patience, but he understood just too well what had happened in that grotty café merely hours ago. _Wished_ he'd had been there.

'Look, who the fuck are you?' a sudden pinch of fear in her voice which wavered. Disgust for what she had created, the blood still dried beneath her nails, had made her suddenly nervous and frightened like a _human._

All those people. _Dead._

'Oh.' Cutler looked down at his hands. He looked so calm yet authoritative and quietly dangerous. Like he could attack at any minute. Lifting his head slowly, he tilted it to the side. 'I'm your new Boss.'


End file.
